Ridin' Low - Ice T, Ice-T featuring Feddi De Marco

Ohhh!

Uhh.

Yeah!

It’s going down, baby

It feels good, man

Feddi De Marco

Uhh.

stop feeling different music, man

Uhh.

Iceberg, kid

I’m Cali' tipping, man

Yeah!

Uhh, just get by the mic and just start.

Yo Feddi, how you’re riding, baby?

Uhha, I’m in a Starburst 64 riding low

On them gold Daytonas and I’m sliding slow

You ain’t nothing like me, so what you’re eying me for?

That bitch you’re with looking, keep your eye in your whore

It’s all about Feddi, when the Chevy raised

With a bitch on the blade, to keep me heavy paid

Black seven trey, blue bandanna

Dipped in search, looking for jewels like it’s owned by Santayana

Great pounds down the zones and a bag of grand zag

Raw ounce and;

I’m sure bouncing, yeah, forty ounce

And liquor pour like water fountains

For all the late night body counting

This nigga got the urge and the tendency

To do with me, seventeen upwards in a key (Damn!)

With my blood, bitch I’m sleeping with the enemy (Shit!)

I call that bomb pussy off the Hennessey

Differ the mode, same old shit

You’re slipping, who hit you?

— the same old bitch

She caught pimping, when I’m flipping cocaine bricks

More bounce to the ounce that gold frame lifts so.

I’m in that Bentley GT riding low

Twenty four CTCs and I’m sliding slow

You ain’t nothing like me, so what you’re eying me for?

That bitch you’re with looking, keep your eye in your whore

I’m in a Starburst 64 riding low

On them gold Daytonas and I’m sliding slow

You ain’t nothing like me, so what you’re eying me for?

That bitch you’re with looking, keep your eye in your whore

Living in a Coupe De West, gotta keep a sniff in the vest

Cause you can’t on the stretch

Rotten Khaki and Denim, Fuck!

them excellent mats

I got bitches, the ones who blow the whistles the best (OHHH!)

Yes, I keep the heels clicking, til I get a meal ticket

Bitch can’t get nothing from feel different, real pimping

Banging Notorious, ablution nigga, who shot you?

No!

it’s more like who killed you nigga?

I don’t know why, but I’m so damn fly

Why you’re staring at my whips nigga, they’re easy to buy

Put your bitch out on the corner, pop her ass in the air

Get her head game cracking, but you’re probably care (So)

I’m;

a BullGuard gripped the wood grain hard

Baby, ride with my niggaz like we’re still in the yard

Gangsters, Bloods and Crips, all about my chips

My Continental is so low that it scrapes in the dips (UHH!)

You can’t see me, can’t touch me — don’t bother

I bust nuts back in the eighties, probably your father

Everything I ride is low, dropped to the ground

Ask your bitch about me, tightest nigga in town

I park treys in my front yard, riding the grass

Light up your whole block, drop the ass

I pressure gates, fool, convertible roof

Nowadays, catch me in that Bentley coupe

I love looking out my tint, at you haters on the curb

Punk ass, get your weight up, get some crack and serve

I might swerve into another lane, fucking with my Navy

Cops can’t pull me over, cause I never touched the Cavi'

Iceberg, I roll rims through the suburbs

You hear shots, that’s Feddi and Watts

Straight pimping baby, play the whole bubble for real

Y’all simping, while I’m twisting on my GT wheel

Ohh!

yo, Feddi my nigga, let me ride that four, man

I feel like tickling them switches man

There’s no problem

Yeah, nigga

It’s behind that Range, nigga

Yeah, you know you can roll, nigga

I know that

Throw me them keys, here you go

That’s right

Easy on the dips, my shit is low baby

I know nigga, you don’t do shit nigga, I got you